My Boy Builds Coffins
by TreesAndCheese
Summary: The coffins were piled up all over the house. Finland felt like he was drowning in them.  Berwald has a new obsession and Tino can do nothing but stand by and watch it consume his life.


"Do y' like it, w'fe?" Berwald asked when he heard Finland walk into his woodwork shop. Berwald had locked himself in there for a few hours so Tino decided to check on him. He slid behind Berwald's chair and warped his arms around his shoulders. He tilted his head as he looked at the large box at Sweden's feet.

"What it is, Su-san?" He asked sweetly.

"C'ffn." Was the reply. There was a moment of silent confusion.

"Coffin?" Berwald nodded. "Why?" He asked. Berwald only shrugged in return.

"Okay then... don't forget to fix the chair that is wobbly in the kitchen." Sweden nodded and Finland kissed him on the cheek and left, shutting the door behind him.

_My boy builds coffins with hammers and nails._  
><em>He doesn't build ships, he has no use for sails.<em>  
><em>He doesn't make tables, dressers or chair,<em>  
><em>He can't carve a whistle cause he just doesn't care<em>

"I'm really worried about him, Norge. Its all he makes now. I can't even get him to make anything for me and I've tried so hard. He used to only try to make me happy... and now..." he drifted off for a moment, "He always shows me when he's done with that little hopeful look in his eyes. I can't just tell him to stop, it's seems to be the only thing he enjoys now. I-I just... don't know what to do anymore." Little Finland was beginning to lose hope. It had already been a year since Sweden started to refuse to even leave the house. It had been a year since he became completely obsessed with coffins.

It had slowly gotten wore and worse. Now it was just scary how much time he spent on them. He spent every waking moment either making them of drawing new ideas for them. He stopped talking to anyone, he was never very sociable to begin with, but now he hardly ever talked to even Tino. It was like he wasn't in the house anymore. Tino desperately tried to get him back to normal, but now he thought the loneliness and stress was starting to get to him.

_My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor._  
><em>Kings and queens; they've all knocked on his door.<em>  
><em>Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves<em>  
><em>They all come to him 'cause he's so eager to please<em>

Finland listened from the kitchen as Berwald spoke quietly with the distraught couple in the living room. He knew why they were there. The same reason anyone came over now. They wanted a coffin. Their house was now covered in them. He felt he was drowning in them. There were so many, pilled up in every corner of the house. Those were for the costumers with less money. Whenever he got a rich one he always made one custom for them. I didn't really matter though, he spends the same amount of time and effort for each. He loves to make them. It had been that way for nearly fifty years. Since he was always making new ones, they were simply piling up. With each new coffin Tino felt more and more miserable. He had no idea what he could do to help. He didn't even know if he _wanted_ to. Berwald was so always happy when he finished one.

"I used to love anything that could make him smile like that." Finland muttered to himself as he made dinner for himself and Berwald. Of course, he had to actually convince his to eat first. Sometimes he just holed himself in his room and wouldn't leave to eat or sleep. He was still not used to having the house to himself, though Peter had long since moved. House was now painfully quiet. They had decided that the house wasn't a good environment for him, so he was sent to live with Norway and Denmark. It took some convincing, but after a few years he agreed.

The couple left and Tino watched Berwald go back to the workshop where he spent his days.

_My boy builds coffins he makes them all day_  
><em>But it's not just for work and it isn't for play<em>  
><em>He's made one for himself<em>  
><em>One for me too<em>  
><em>One of these days he'll make one for you.<em>  
><em>For you, for you, for you.<em>

"Ber-Bear, please come to bed." Finland tugged gently on his sleeve. Berwald just shook his head roughly. Finland sagged, and leaned against Berwald's large frame. He wrapped his arms around his broad shoulders and just held on, seeking any small amount of comfort he could get. His head nuzzled against his shoulder. Berwald didn't leave that room even once that day. His entire being was focused on his new projects. The house was so quiet and lonely. He would do anything to just spend a little time with him.

He tried to choke back a sob.

"Please, Sweden. Please." He begged through his rough throat and teary eyes. He couldn't hold back the whimper of sadness. "Please." He murmured under his breath again and again.

Finally his hands paused, still grasping his tools. He dropped then and looked at his hands in his lap. Finland's hands tightened their grasp on his shirt. There was a slight nod as Sweden stood up and cracked his back a few times. He then turned around and scoped Tino up bridal style and carried him to their bedroom while carefully maneuvering around the only coffin in that room. His. Berwald had made his own coffin about two weeks ago. He gently laid his wife down and got ready for bed. He quickly returned. Tino laid on his side to face him as he slipped between the sheets. He reached toward his face with trembling hands. He noted the tired eyes and creases between Sweden's eyebrows. He couldn't even try to stop the tears.

"Please stop, Berwald, you're killing me." The voice sounded so quiet and pitiful in the dark. Berwald shook his head causing Finland to quietly weep.

There was a sigh.

He pulled Tino close and tucked his head under his chin, arms wrapped around him like a cocoon. "I'm s'rry. 'M so s'rry. I can't."

Finland woke up the next morning to find that sometime in the night Sweden had fallen asleep in the coffin he had made for himself. He felt something break deep inside himself.  
>He glared with malice at the sight. It was those <em>damned<em> coffins. They took him away from him. Berwald might as well be _dead_ for the amount of time they spent together.

_My boy builds coffins for better or worse_  
><em>Some say its a blessing, some say its a curse<em>  
><em>He fits them together in sunshine or rain<em>  
><em>Each one is unique, no two are the same<em>

Finland munched on salmiakki as he walked through the house. He walked up to a pile of a few coffins. He paused to look at them. To _really look_. He ran a finger across a pattern etched in the wood. It was obvious the amount of care and devotion even in the little details. He looked at his feet but continued to feel it. His eyebrows furrowed slightly. He looked at the wood again. Ever so slightly in the wood, invisible at first glance "I love you, Tino" was etched into the wood. That one was one of the first, over fifty years ago it was made. His eyes filled with tears and he walked away.

He loved him? It didn't feel like it. Tino had spent so much time convincing himself that it was over between them. Hopeless. He convinced himself that Berwald only cared about his precious coffins. Nothing else seemed to matter. But lately... He wasn't so sure. Doubts had begun to sneak their way in his head.

_My boy builds coffins and I think it's a shame_  
><em>That when each one's been made, he can't see it again.<em>  
><em>He crafts everyone with love and with care<em>  
><em>Then it's thrown in the ground, it just isn't fair!<em>

"You're just going to give it to them?" He yelled once the door swung shut. Finland was glaring at him, no amusement in his eyes. Berwald stared at him, an unreadable look in his eye. He nodded slowly.

"Th'y need it. I don't. Be'n doin it fer years. Why're you ups't?" He mumbled. Finland opened his mouth to retort, but closed it sharply. He glared at his feet harshly. It had been nearly eighty-five years and he had never once complained

_"Why do I care?"_ He thought. Suddenly there was a hand tilting his chin up slightly so he had no choice but to look him in the eye.

Before he could react there was a pair of lips on his own. ***smack *** The sound echoed through out the house. Berwald brought a hand up to his reddening cheek. A look of surprise found itself across his face. Tino glared at the floor as he stomped past him.

_"Why?"_

He had never liked them before. He hated those coffins. They took his entire life away from him. His love, his son, his happy family. But... maybe they didn't. Maybe... they weren't tearing them apart.

Maybe Tino himself was the one doing that. Berwald obviously loved doing it; that's all he did all day. Perhaps... he could learn to like it too. Then they could always be together. Perhaps, if Tino changed the way he acts then everything would be perfection.

No. No, that was crazy.

_My boy builds coffins he makes them all day_  
><em>But it's not just for work and it isn't for play<em>  
><em>He's made one for himself<em>  
><em>One for me too<em>  
><em>One of these days he'll make one for you<em>

Tino stared at the pain wooden door like he was facing a ruthless army all by himself. It seemed so innocent, yet he hated it more then anything in the world. For over one hundred years it stood between him and his loved. Between him and Berwald. He did hesitate before pushing it open though, he was worried about Sweden. He had been in there a lot longer then normal. It had been more than a week since he had so much as seen him. He had gotten used to seeing him at least every couple of days, since he started simply leaving his food outside his workshop door. Taking a deep breath he pushed. Berwald stood and turned to look at him. He had a breathless kind of happy painted across his face once he saw who it was.

"Hey, Ber. I was just making sure you''re-" He stopped in his tracks. At Sweden's feet was a masterpiece. It was wonderfully sculpted. It was curly maple, Finland's favorite wood, and had intricate carvings cascading around the sides. Images of all their lovely memories together.

"Do y'o like it?" Berwald asked timidly. In a daze Tino walked up to kneel next to it. He reverently ran his hand across the top.

"It's beautiful. It's gorgeous. It... wow, Su-san... this is amazing." His hand brushed everywhere, feeling everything. The smooth wood all on the outside polished to perfection. The inside was a beautiful velvet that perfectly matched his eyes on a sunny day.

"L'ke it?" He pressed.

Finland nodded enthusiastically. "I love it!"

"It's your's" Finland's eyes lit up in joy.

"Really?" Berwald nodded. Tino jumped up in excitement and joy. "Can I sit in it?" Berwald seemed a little surprised by the request, but nodded anyway. Tino hopped into it.

Berwald walked over to peek into it. He got there just in time to see Tino stretch out on the bottom of the coffin and curl up slightly as if he could fall asleep right then and there. His hair splayed across the soft velvet beautifully. His eyes even started to drift cosed slightly like a contented cat.

"Y're so cute." He knelt down and ran his fingers though Tino's hair. "Wanna stay while I w'rk?" He asked and Finland smiled and nodded. Finnaly, it was just him, the one he loved, and what he loved to do.

"Who are you going to make one for next?" Finland asked softly.

Berwald shrugged and replied "Am'rica? W'nt ta make one fer every'ne."

Finland smiled and Berwald went to get his tools.

"My boy builds coffins..." Finland said to himself, a fond smile on his face.

**Hey! This is TreesAndCheese!**

**Thanks for reading my story! This is my second Su/fin story. My other one is called "Berwald, Unicorn of the Ocean." **

**I just made up Finland's favorite wood. If he actually has one and someone knows what it is they are welcome to tell me. ^_^**

**if you have a question don't hesitate to ask! ^_^ And if you see any mistakes please tell me.**

**This is a song fic for the song "My Boy Builds Coffins" by Florence and The Machine.**

**Disclaimer: This is not mine, I own nothing.**

**Please leave me a review if you liked it.**

**Tons-o-luv**  
><strong>TreesAndCheese<strong>


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